


Don't Close the Door On Us

by AgentStannerShipper



Series: Kinktober 2018 [6]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: 1920s AU, Clothed Sex, Clothing Kink, Crossdressing, M/M, basically harry wears a skirt and a corset and ian fucks him, spoilers for behind closet doors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-27 05:25:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16212338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/pseuds/AgentStannerShipper
Summary: Things have been a bit tense between Harry and Ian since Ian's return from America. Harry wants to fix that.





	Don't Close the Door On Us

**Author's Note:**

> Behind Closet Doors is part of a universe now! I always planned on doing some spin-off/sequel/prequel work, but for now, a couple of the kinktober pieces will take place in that universe. Read Behind Closet Doors first if you haven't and don't want to be spoiled (although this piece does stand on it's own). 
> 
> Kinktober day six was 'corset.' As usual I cannot title for shit.

Harry twisted in front of the mirror, smoothing a hand over his stomach and frowning. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea after all. Ian was a good flatmate and a good friend, but their relationship was still on incredibly rocky terms. Harry wasn’t sure they were ready for this.

But, quite frankly, he missed the sex. Not necessarily the release, which he’d managed just fine on his own while Ian was in America, but the way Ian made him _feel_ during sex, the attention, the passion, all the ferocity and gentleness in equal measure that such a powerful man poured into making Harry feel good. It was a heady experience, and one Harry sorely missed. They hadn’t even kissed since Ian’s return, save for once. They were too uncertain around each other, too afraid of doing something wrong again to risk it.

Harry wanted to risk it.

He didn’t think Ian would be difficult to tempt. They’d had plenty of missteps, especially in the first few weeks of living together in a flat that, if Harry was being perfectly honest, really couldn’t be considered his if you looked at what they each put towards rent. They stayed in separate bedrooms, as Harry had requested, but the sound tended to carry, and more than once Harry had paused in passing Ian’s bedroom door, only to hear the slick sound of skin-on-skin and Ian moaning Harry’s name. They’d walked in on each other in various states of undress a few times. It was awkward, not because of the nudity, but because of the unspoken agreement to do nothing about it.

But Harry wanted to do something about it. He studied his reflection in the mirror again. The deep blue of the corset, edged with even darker lace, made his skin look richer, as if he didn’t spend all his time inside at his desk, and it sculpted his body into subtle curves. Even soft, his cock stretched the fabric of the matching panties. Harry bit his lip, debating. Ian adored fucking Harry in a skirt. He’d admitted once, when Harry had asked, that he loved the primal feeling of being so desperate for one another that it was all they could do to push a scrap of fabric aside and just _fuck_. At the time, Harry had blushed. He wasn’t quite so innocent anymore. He just wasn’t sure a skirt was the right call for this particular outfit.

Downstairs, Harry heard the door open and Ian call out, “Harry? I’m home.”

“It’s early!” Harry called back, fighting to keep the panicked surprise from his voice. “I thought you were staying at the club all night?”

“There was a fight. Wrecked a good portion of the furniture. The police got involved, said we had to close down for the night while they sorted things out.”

Harry made a split-second decision and grabbed the skirt he’d been debating over, a pitch-black thing dripping in layers of fringe that didn’t fall more than halfway down his thighs. “That’s too bad,” he said. “I can’t imagine it’ll be good for business.”

“We’ll get by.” Ian’s voice was louder, and Harry pushed open his bedroom door as he heard Ian’s footsteps approach. He didn’t really have time to pose – not that he imagined the result would have been especially enticing – but Ian stuttered to a stop anyway, freezing a few feet away from him. His eyes darkened as they swept over Harry’s attire, and Harry was gratified to see a bulge start to swell in his trousers. He smoothed a hand down the front of the corset, deliberately trying to draw attention to the way it hugged his body, and watched as Ian’s eyes followed his hand.

But instead of moving towards Harry, Ian took a step back. He cleared his throat. “I’ll, uh, be upstairs if you need me. I need to approve Ginger and Tequila’s time off for their honeymoon.”

“Ian.”

He shook his head minutely. “I really ought to-“

“Ian,” Harry said again, and the other man stopped in his tracks. Harry took a step towards him. “I want you.”

It didn’t come out particularly sultry, but at least it didn’t sound desperate. Ian’s eyes softened, and he allowed Harry to close the gap between them, closing his eyes briefly as Harry ran a hand down his chest, letting it rest on Ian’s stomach. He opened them again when Harry murmured, “I know things have been a little bit…tense between us.”

Ian chuckled darkly, and Harry felt the reverberations through his whole body. He swallowed hard and continued, “But I’m tired of denying us this.” He slid his hand lower, gently cupping the thick bulge in Ian’s trousers. “You want me. I want you. It seems incredibly simple.”

Ian didn’t make a move to push Harry away, even as he said, “You know it’s not.”

“It could be.”

“Harry.” Ian sounded _broken_. Harry could hear the tension in his voice, recognized the signs of his lover holding himself back. “We hurt each other. Badly.”

“So put me back together again,” Harry breathed.

Ian seized him by the hip, dragging Harry close, his thumb swiping appreciatively over the bottom of the corset. Harry looped his arms around Ian’s neck, moaning eagerly as Ian smothered him in a kiss. Ian hoisted him up, and Harry wrapped his legs tight around Ian’s waist, grinding against him when Ian encouraged it with a hand on his arse. “I missed you,” Ian murmured. “You feel so good.”

“I’ll feel even better when you come inside,” Harry whispered in his ear. He didn’t know where the words were coming from – the same muse who led his stories, perhaps, or a more wicked version of it at least – but he knew they were the right ones, because Ian groaned and carried him into the bedroom.

Harry let out a soft grunt when Ian tossed him down on the bed, not hard, but enough to knock the wind out of him. It didn’t matter, though, because then Ian was crawling on top of him, looking deadly as a panther in his sharp black suit. Harry shivered as Ian pushed his legs up and apart, making room for himself between them. Harry’s cock throbbed, pushing up towards the waistband of his panties and leaving a noticeable tent in his skirt. Ian grinned, a feral look, and then shoved Harry’s skirt up and wrapped his lips around the cotton-covered flesh.

Harry reached down desperately, getting a fistful of Ian’s suit jacket and rocking into Ian’s mouth. The wet heat sent sparks coursing through his body, and even through the fabric he could feel it when Ian scraped his teeth over him, sharpness catching on the thick vein underneath. Harry moaned, and Ian switched back to suckling for a moment before pulling away just enough to ask, “Are you particularly attached to these?”

Harry hardly had time to shake his head before Ian tore them off, mouth abruptly on bare flesh. “Ian!” Harry cried, his grip tightening. “Ian, please!”

Ian hummed around his mouthful, then released it to mouth at Harry’s balls, taking them between his lips in turn. A hand came up next to Harry, palm up and demanding, and it took Harry a moment to realize what he was asking for. Fumbling, he found the lube and passed it to Ian, who scooped a dollop of it onto his fingers and pressed the pad of his pointer against Harry’s hole.

Pulling off, he asked, “One finger or two, Harry?”

“Two,” Harry answered instantly, and he was rewarded with two of Ian’s fingers sliding deep inside him, crooking and searching his walls for the little bump that would make him scream in pleasure.

Unerringly, as if no time had passed between them at all, Ian found it and pressed down hard. Harry let out a cry, head falling back, hips arching up and into the touch before it disappeared. There was a slick sound, and then Ian’s mouth was on his cock again and his fingers were back – three this time – so deep and so, _so_ good after nearly a year without them. Harry whimpered at the stretch, simultaneously never wanting it to end and wishing Ian would get on with it already. He was so close, his balls pulling up tight as Ian continued to suck, and then suddenly he was at the edge, crying out Ian’s name as he came down his throat, Ian swallowing every drop.

Harry didn’t get a second to breath before Ian’s fingers were gone, unbuckling his trousers to push them down and then fishing through his pockets until he produced a condom, sheathing his cock first in rubber, then in a coating of lube as he gave himself a few quick strokes. He forced Harry higher up on the bed, rucking his skirt up as far as it would go until the seams stretched tight over Harry’s thighs, keeping Harry immobilized. Then, in a long, rough stroke, he ploughed into Harry’s still-sensitive arse.

He paused when he bottomed out, possibly in response to Harry’s soft whimper as the thick length invaded him. Concern broke through the wild look in Ian’s eyes, and he brushed a curl back off Harry’s face. “Did I hurt you?”

He hadn’t, and Harry shook his head. “Sensitive?” Ian asked, a lopsided grin spreading across his lips. Harry nodded, and Ian rubbed their noses together. “That’s the idea, Harry. You okay if I move?”

Harry clenched a little, testing himself, and heard Ian bite back a curse, hips rocking but held back from truly thrusting. He nodded again, reaching up to curl his fingers around the back of Ian’s neck. “Go ahead.”

Ian hauled Harry upright, wrapping him up with an arm around his back, the angle driving him deeper into Harry’s tight channel. Ian groaned and pressed their foreheads together. “So good for me. So tight. Can you feel how deep I am inside you, Harry?” He gave a first, slow thrust of his hips, a lazy roll that drove him in deep and rubbed all the way along Harry’s over-sensitive walls. “No one else is ever going to have you like this again, Harry. Not if I can help it.”

Harry moaned in agreement, trying to encourage Ian to thrust harder, but unable to do more than rock desperately against him. “Take me,” he said instead. “Make me yours. _Use me._ ”

Ian grunted, sealing their lips together in a sloppy kiss, licking into Harry’s mouth demandingly as he started to move. His strokes were short, sharp thrusts that drove him against Harry’s prostate over and over, making Harry whimper with sensitivity, even as he clung tight to Ian, begging for more, harder, faster, _anything_ , anything Ian wanted.

The hand on Harry’s back slid slightly, running along the row of laces keeping his corset tight, and Ian dug his fingers in and fucked up, his thrusts quickening. Between breaths, he hissed, “Mine. You belong to _me_.” He tugged Harry even closer to him, and the seam of Harry’s skirt split halfway up the fabric, allowing Harry to spread his legs even farther.

Ian tipped him backwards again, shifting into longer, less even strokes. Harry could feel him pulsing inside, swelling slightly, and he knew Ian was close. He dug his heels into the meat of Ian’s arse, encouraging him to pound harder, his thrusts drilling into Harry as Ian forgot about everything but chasing his own release.

“Yours,” Harry murmured to him. “I’m, _oh_ , I’m yours, Ian. _Jesus Christ, yes_ , harder, darling. Come on, come in me. Mark me up inside and out.”

Ian groaned, burying himself deep and spilling into the condom, his thrusts much gentler through it as he drew out the orgasm as long as he could stand. Harry shuddered and moaned. He was hard again, the insistence pressure against his prostate and the overwhelming pleasure of Ian inside him forcing his cock to stand to attention again. As Ian slumped down, catching his breath, it rubbed against his stomach insistently. He chuckled into the skin of Harry’s neck and reached between them, cradling Harry’s erection. Most of the lube had rubbed off his hand, and he reached for it again, his fingers coming back slick as he stroked Harry gently, coaxing him into a much calmer orgasm.

Afterwards, Harry lay back and caught his breath, and Ian settled in next to him, seeming uninterested in going anywhere. It was almost surreal, having him in Harry’s bed again. He didn’t bother to fix his trousers, apparently unconcerned by the lube and semen dripping onto the fabric. Harry’s skirt was a mess, his arsehole leaking onto it, the seam torn from Ian’s rough ministrations.

They ought to get up, at least to clean themselves of. Harry pushed himself into a sitting position, and Ian frowned at him and did the same. “Harry?”

“I’ll be right back,” Harry told him, and went to fetch a flannel from the bathroom. He wet it in the sink, pausing as the warm water streamed over his hands, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He looked thoroughly fucked and just a little uncertain. He pushed the feeling away and returned to the bedroom.

Ian was still in his bed, still sitting, looking concerned. Harry wiggled out of his skirt, abandoning it on the floor, and wiped the excess fluids off his skin, then passed the cloth to Ian. Ian took it, and as he scrubbed half-heartedly at the mess that was his trousers, Harry sat back on the bed, pulling his knees under him.

Ian caught him staring and looked away, balling up the cloth and tucking himself back into his trousers. “Do you want me to leave?” he asked quietly.

Harry couldn’t help but remember how eager he was to leave Ian’s bed the first time – and how some of that eagerness had been more akin to nervousness and fear – and shook his head. They were long past that. “Stay,” he said. He twisted around so his back was to Ian, looking over his shoulder. “Help me with this?”

Ian smiled and leaned forward, running his fingers gently down the side seam of the corset before obliging, diligently loosening the ribbons holding it snug until Harry could peel himself out of it.

“Did you wear this for me?” Ian asked. “Or was it simply good timing?”

Harry flushed slightly. “For you,” he admitted. He turned back to Ian, setting the corset aside. He felt naked in more ways than one, and Ian being fully dressed wasn’t helping. “I don’t like how things are between us now.”

“Me either,” Ian agreed. “I miss you. It’s like you’re close enough to touch, but I’m not allowed to reach out.”

Tentatively, Harry laid a hand over Ian’s on the bed. Ian startled at the touch, and then relaxed, turning his palm up so he could lace their fingers together. “We can’t go back,” he said softly. “But I want to move forward. I don’t want us to get stuck here.”

“We won’t,” Harry said. “We’ll find our way.” He gave Ian’s hand a squeeze. “Stay the night?”

For the first time since their reunion, Harry saw Ian’s eyes sparkle. “I do live here too.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Stay the night _here_ ,” he said. “In my bed. With me.”

And Ian smiled. “Okay.”


End file.
